The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (48 page)

“We’re very sorry we didn’t come in sooner, sir,” Josh said, sounding much more composed than I felt. “We just always hoped Thomas would be coming back—”

“And when he did, you were going to allow him to continue with his illegal activities,” the dean said, his voice rising as the redness of his face deepened to near burgundy. “You were going to allow him to continue disgracing this institution.”

I sank lower in my leather chair. I was going to get thrown out of Easton. I could feel it. I was never going to touch the ivy around the entrance to Billings again. Never find out if I could actually pass Mr. Barber’s history class. Never sit with Noelle and Ariana and Kiran and Taylor and sip wine and eat expensive chocolates and laugh. Never see New York from windows high above Park Avenue again. What had I been thinking, coming here? How could I have forgotten how much there was to lose?

Croton, Pennsylvania, here I come! I wondered if that handwritten
HELP WANTED
sign was still hanging in the window of the Rite Aid.

“But that’s not even the worst of it, Mr. Hollis,” Dean Marcus continued, his indignation so strong he was starting to tremble. “If you had come to us with this information earlier we might have found Mr. Pearson
weeks
ago. You don’t—”

My heart completely stopped beating.

“Dean,” the chief said in a warning tone.

The dean went white under his age spots as he realized his slipup. He looked at the chief uncertainly.

Weeks ago?
Weeks?

“Is that true?” I heard myself say, my voice sounding very meek. “Has Thomas been dead for that long?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brennan, but we’re not at liberty to divulge that information while our investigation continues,” Chief Sheridan said firmly, stepping up to the desk.

Dean Marcus sat back in his chair, deflated. The chief’s tone was reprimanding. Clearly, the dean had been relishing his position as man in charge of this meeting, and by speaking a few words too many he had just lost it. It seemed there was an authority higher than our school’s number-one authority figure.

“But Dean Marcus is right. You should have told us these things during our first meetings,” the chief continued, staring us down. “I know you thought you were protecting your friend, but by impeding our investigation you’ve done the exact opposite.”

What little breakfast I’d managed to choke down was slowly rising up from my stomach. Was he right? Could I actually have prevented Thomas’s death by coming forward? How could this be happening?

Tears came to my eyes, and I stared straight ahead at the green glass lamp on the dean’s desk, watching it blur. I couldn’t take this. I couldn’t. I felt like my chest was filling up with something I couldn’t define. Something that would surely drown me.

“You didn’t know,” Josh said, quietly.

I looked at him. He was staring right at me. Somehow, I felt calmer, and I willed him not to look away. If he looked away, I would sink.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hollis?” the chief snapped.

“I said she didn’t know,” Josh said a bit louder. “There was no
way she could have known that Thomas was going to get hurt. As far as she knew, that was just a breakup note. How was she supposed to know?”

He glared at the chief. Glared at this man who could potentially end our lives as we knew them. Was he brave or just incredibly stupid? The moment he broke eye contact with me, tears slid silently down my cheeks.

Control yourself, Reed. You can do at least that. Don’t let these people see you crumble.
I wiped at my face, but the tears still came.

“Calm down, Mr. Hollis,” Chief Sheridan said.

“I just don’t see what you’re accomplishing by making a girl cry.
Sir,
” Josh said.

“Josh. It’s okay,” I croaked.

He was going to get us expelled if he kept it up. Or arrested. Or both.

Chief Sheridan held Josh’s gaze for a long moment, then turned his back to us and whispered to the dean. I strained to hear, but all I could pick up were a few stray words.

“ . . . punishment . . .”

“ . . . naive . . .”

“ . . . useful . . .”

Finally, the chief turned to us again. “You may go to class,” he said, exhaling through his nose. The dean, meanwhile, turned his chair to the side, away from us. He looked like a deflated blowup toy version of himself.

Neither Josh nor I moved. It couldn’t be that simple.

“I appreciate that you tried to do the right thing by coming in here today,” the chief said. “It was a little late, but nevertheless, I see no point in charging you with anything. As minors you would get a slap on the wrist, and from the looks on your faces, I believe you’ve already gotten that.”

Not just on the wrist. Across the face and in the stomach. With brass knuckles.

“But if you think of anything else—
anything at all—
you are to come to us immediately. Understood?” he asked, pressing one finger into the desktop.

“Yes, sir,” Josh said, standing.

“Yes, sir,” I echoed, my voice watery.

“Good,” the chief said. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

Weeks ago. Could have found him weeks ago. Thomas had been lying dead somewhere for at least a couple of weeks. But where? Where had they found him? The rumors were conflicting. I’d heard he was found in a field behind the public school. Near a stream in the hills. In some random abandoned building. And—the one that made me shudder the most—in the trunk of a beat-up old car.

Was I ever going to know the truth?

“Reed, you should really eat something,” Ariana said in her mothering tone.

I blinked. The cafeteria was so hushed I had zoned out and forgotten where I was. My turkey sandwich on wheat toast stared up at me, untouched. Kiran and Natasha had just settled in across the table. I hadn’t even heard them arrive.

“At least eat the bread,” Ariana prodded gently.

“Eat the meat. You need the protein, not the carbs,” Kiran said as she lifted a thick issue of
Vogue
out of her bag.

Natasha looked at me and smiled. Was Kiran ever
not
thinking about calorie counts? Ariana stared Kiran down while Kiran flipped past the pages and pages of ads at the front of her magazine as if she didn’t notice.

“What? Carbs will just weigh her down. We’re trying to get her energy up, right?” Kiran said finally, her green eyes wide. “Thus, protein.”

No one could
ever
ignore a serious stare from Ariana. I flicked the bread off the top of my sandwich and ate a piece of turkey with my fingers. “Happy?”

Kiran wrinkled her dainty nose. “I would have preferred a fork, but that’s fine.”

Noelle walked over and sat in her usual chair across from Ariana at the end of the table. She let out a frustrated sigh and glared at Taylor as she slipped in behind me and dropped down in the next chair. Taylor’s nose was red and her curls were matted and dark. As if they hadn’t seen suds in days. She looked tired. Like someone who had spent the entire night staring at her alarm clock, calculating how many hours of sleep she could get if she just passed out
right now
.

Wait. That was me.

“What’s up?” Kiran asked, looking from Taylor to Noelle.

“What’s up is I’m sick of the morgue vibe already,” Noelle said, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Wallowing is good for nothing,” she said pointedly, looking at me and Taylor. “Unless you
enjoy
getting your frown lines Botoxed.”

“Noelle, they just buried Thomas last weekend,” I said, the back of my throat tight.

“I know, okay? I was there,” Noelle said. “But look at everyone. This is not healthy. If this keeps up, we’re talking terminal downward spiral.”

Just then the doors to the cafeteria slammed open and every single person in the room jumped. Dash McCafferty walked in, his blond hair flopping and eyes bright with what looked like excitement. Behind him were Josh and Gage Coolidge, who strolled along with a cocky expression on, as always, like he was working some invisible runway. Walt Whittaker brought up the rear, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, wearing a thick wool coat that came down past his knees.

Dash paused at the end of the table. All eyes in the room were on him. Freshmen, sophomores, professors stared. It was as if the king had finally arrived after we had all traveled miles to see him speak.

“It’s official, my friends,” Dash announced, spreading his arms wide. “We are throwing a party.”

Instantly a murmur rushed across the room, like a ripple rushing outward and splashing against the far walls before making its way back again. Two seconds later, the caf was alive with chatter.

“Now that’s more like it,” Noelle said, brightening considerably.

“A party?” Taylor squeaked.

“For what?” Natasha asked.

“For Thomas,” Gage said. “To, you know, honor his memory and shit.”

“Very eloquent, Gage,” Whit scolded.

“Excuse me, Master Webster,” Gage said, putting on a stuffy New England accent. He placed his hand flat on his chest and raised his nose. “I intended
not
to offend.”

Whit blushed and Gage cackled, grabbing a carrot stick from Ariana’s plate and crunching into it. Josh, meanwhile, slid in behind me and sat down on Taylor’s other side. He didn’t look as psyched about the announcement as his friends were.

“Do you really think that’s appropriate?” Natasha said, looking meaningfully at me. I loved it when someone else said what I was thinking so that I didn’t have to. Natasha had another level of depth that the rest of my friends didn’t seem to possess, an ability to imagine what it might be like if the person
she
loved had been found dead off campus. How that might feel. I suspected that Noelle had not bothered to try to empathize with me by imagining Dash six feet under. Doing that would be too unpleasant for the Golden Goddess of Easton.

“Ah, the moral center speaks,” Noelle announced. She folded her hands under her chin and looked at Natasha, enraptured. “Do tell us, Mrs. Bush. What is our repression of the day?”

The guys all laughed. Natasha’s eyes narrowed into thin slits of hatred. “I’m just saying that maybe not everyone at this school will see death as a reason to party.”

“Well, then, they’re assbags,” Gage said.

“We already got permission from the dean,” Dash told us, rubbing his hands together, as if that put an end to Natasha’s argument. “We’re going to do it the night before Thanksgiving break and make it totally cheesy and cool. Like some kind of Midwest prom or something.”

“That’s hilarious,” Gage said, cracking up.

“Thomas would have loved that,” Ariana said.

I looked at her. She had always hated Thomas. Had been the first to warn me away from him. How would she know what he would or wouldn’t have loved?

“Think we could smuggle in some strippers?” Gage asked. “Now
that
Thomas would have loved.”

My body heat peaked, and I noticed everyone glancing at me to note my reaction. I tried not to have one.

“Coolidge, you are so crass,” Natasha said.

“Crenshaw, why don’t you and Whittaker get together and spawn already?” Gage suggested. “You could pop out the first mixed-race Republican in America.”

Whit scoffed. Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Know what I like most about you, Coolidge?” Natasha said. “You’re so ignorant, you think it’s something to be proud of.”

“You know you love me,” Gage replied.

“Enough already. Can we get back to the party now?” Dash said.

“I think it’s exactly what we need,” Noelle said.

“Exactly,” Dash agreed. “Get everyone out of this freakin’
morbid state. It’s really bringing me the hell down. And personally, I don’t think Pearson would appreciate it.”

“He
was
always up for a good party,” Kiran said with a thoughtful frown.

“Please. You just want another excuse to get drunk,” Noelle joked.

“What do you think, Reed?” Ariana asked me.

I have to say, part of me was touched that any of these people considered anything to be my call. But I supposed that was what happened when you were the girlfriend of the person who had infamously, mysteriously, died. To these people I was practically a widow.

Unfortunately, I found myself unable to process anything. This, like everything else that came my way these days, was just too much for me to handle. What would everyone think? How could I possibly handle a celebration? Could this really be up to me?

Everyone was staring at me. Desperate, I glanced at Josh. “What do you say? Are you ready to party?”

He shrugged. “Might not be the worst idea. If it helps people, you know, move on.”

He held my gaze for a moment and I knew he wasn’t just thinking about “people.” He was thinking about me. He wanted
me
to move on. With him? A skitter of excitement traced its way through the lumps of pain, guilt, and fear in my chest. And, just like that, I had something else I couldn’t wrap my brain around.

“I think it’s a great idea,” I said, forcing a smile. “You guys are right. All this drama isn’t very Thomas. Or . . . wasn’t.”

“Good. Then it’s a go,” Dash said, pulling a chair up from another table to sit at the head of ours. “And who knows? Maybe by then they’ll catch the bastard who did this and we’ll really have something to celebrate.”

Taylor snorted, and by the time I turned to look at her, tears were already streaming down her face.

“God, Taylor,” Noelle said. “Pop a Prozac and get over it already. Like Hollis said, it’s time to move on.”

Taylor winced at Noelle’s words and my heart went out to her. I reached out to pat her back, but she jumped up before I could touch her.

“I have to go to the nurse,” she said.

She fumbled to get her bag strap off the back of her chair and knocked it over in the process, causing a huge clatter in the otherwise silent room. Everyone once again looked at us, and Taylor was mortified. She ducked her head and ran, her now ever-present tissue covering her nose.

“What is her deal lately?” Natasha asked.